


Change of Fate

by Bullet_Sangwich



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Simmons POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5447825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bullet_Sangwich/pseuds/Bullet_Sangwich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick Simmons is just a regular guy. Except for the fact that he was supposed to die today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before we get started, this story is going to touch on the subject of death. If that makes you uncomfortable, I'd skip this story.

My mother used to tell me every day for years, "Dick, you should cherish life and all the surprises it has in store." Initially, I had assumed that her words were supposed to carry me through the tough times I would have in the future. 

Naturally, that was before I learned that the date inscribed on my body was the day I would die. 

First things first though. My mother brought me in to this world, pleased to see a small red-haired baby boy cradled in her arms. My father, being the utter asshole that he was, was less than impressed. Mom told me once that he used to call her a walking recessive gene, that she would never pass along her fiery hair and emerald eyes, and that the day I was born, as soon as they saw the red hair she knew that she would always have this one victory over him. She would always have me.

But then she checked for my death date.

It's not easy knowing what day you're just gonna drop dead, and for the most part, it can be harder on others than it is on you. 

She found my date, low on my right ankle, and definitely not a date she wanted to see. 

16th of August, 2557. 

That would make me 28 years, 8 months, 25 days old on the day I die.

Unfortunately for Mom, that means her only child is fated to pass years before she does.

Unfortunately for me, that day is today. 

 

When you think about it, it's pretty disheartening to pass over the anniversary of your future death. I can't help but wonder why humans are inscribed in such a way; legend says that centuries ago, nobody knew when they were set to kick the bucket. No one thought, "Hey, it's only three days until the anniversary of when I die in 20 years!" If I were to guess, I'd say that times back then were a hell of a lot happier than they are now.

Honestly, I haven't lived my life to the fullest. Sure, I've excelled in all aspects, be it in my education or in my career, but that's all I've ever really focused on. I don't have any sort of social skills, so I don't have any friends, my coworkers think I'm a kissass and my boss only likes me because I inflate his ego. 

My life, up to this point, has pretty much been one straight line of focus, never straying from the path, never making any bold strides. The fact of the matter is that I don't have any more time to live life. I get to spend my last day on earth the exact same way I spend every other day, walking on eggshells and hoping I don't just keel over in some stupid, embarrassing fashion.

Twenty eight years isn't really all that long, if you think about it. I catch myself wondering all the time, how am I gonna go? I've been to see a slew of medical professionals, all of whom tell me I won't be dying of any disease, so I guess I can rule that out. I heard rumors once that there are people who have avoided their death, but I'm not sure that's true at all. I would think there's still something to kill you at some point.

For me, I'd bet that getting in my own head is what would kill me. Not necessarily driving myself to suicide, but getting so lost in my thoughts that I just walk into traffic or something.

Speaking of which, a big truck is headed right for me. I knew it, I knew this was how I was going to go. Well, I guess I'll just hang tight and wait for the sweet embrace of death. 

I stand here in the middle of the deserted road, ready for what's about to happen. I think back to my boss, to my teachers, to my asshole father, and lastly, to my mother. I'm sure she's already grieving, she knows today is the day. 

I hear the truck inching closer and closer; I relax myself and prepare for the quick, painless strike of metal against flesh.

Suddenly, I feel a blunt force strike me, but not head on, and definitely not metal. My side hits the pavement and I roll over to see what hit me. To my side is a young man, couldn't be much older than me. He's wearing a sleeveless orange shirt, and peeking out from under the fabric covering his golden skin, I can see his death date. I inched closer to him, gently lifting the fabric to get a better look. 

23rd of May, 2554

Wait, what?


	2. Chapter 2

I get up off the ground, mildly horrified at the stranger lying next to me. He groans, pushing himself up off the ground. We locked eyes for a moment before he broke the silence.

"Hey," he spoke softly. Getting all the way up off the ground, he walked over to me and extended his hand. "I'm Grif."

Bewildered, I placed my hand in his and picked myself up. "I'm Dick. Call me Simmons."

"So, Simmons," Grif started, "How does it feel not being dead?"

I stare at him for a minute before simply answering, "How the fuck do you think I feel?"

Grif's smile faltered. "Well, most people are usually grateful that they have a lot more life to live now."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Most people aren't expecting to be pushed out of the way of death!"

"You'd be surprised," Grif said, grinning.

Turning away from Grif, I began walking down the road. I hear heavy footsteps bounding after me and turn back, only to be face to face with him again.

"Where you goin'?" 

"Home," I replied shortly. I resumed walking away, only to receive a rough tug on my shoulder, yanking me back around. "You can't go home now, Simmons. Everyone you know thinks you're dead," says Grif.

Feeling the anger boil in my veins, I rip Grif's hand off my shoulder. "I would have been dead already if it weren't for your vigilante ass!" 

"Thanks to my 'vigilante ass', you have an entirely new lease on life! You can do everything that you never thought you had time for!" Grif snapped.

"Oh, really? And pray tell, asshole, what might all those things be?"

"For starters, you can take that huge stick up your ass and go fuck yourself with it!" he yelled.

Not feeling a response come, I walked away from Grif, a small twinge of remorse building in the pit of my stomach. 

"You're gonna have to start over, Simmons. Like I said before, everyone knows you should be dead. That includes the people that you rent from, your bank, your insurance companies," Grif says softly. "According to all of them, Dick Simmons is dead."

I stop in my tracks, realizing that Grif is right. I won't have a home to go back to, finances, friends, family, all of it. All those people know I was supposed to die.

"Do you understand now?" Grif asks.

"No! I don't understand! Why me? Why was it so important that I be saved? And why the fuck aren't you dead?" I asked frantically.

Grif sighed heavily, walking away from me. I found myself following behind quickly, eager to hear the answer.

"Simmons, I live in a small colony of people who, just like me, were meant to die long ago but were saved in the nick of time," he said. 

"But why? Is there some greater purpose?"

Grif laughed softly. "I guess you could say that. Come on."

"Where?" I asked.

"To the colony. I'll fill you in," he said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif explains how the world works, and Simmons collapses under the emotional pressure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD FINALLY
> 
> Finally I finished a damn chapter.

After what felt like an hour of deliberation, I finally convinced Grif to let me go back home to grab a few things before we went to the colony. Grif followed me, claiming that he needed to keep an eye on me.

"So," I started, finally breaking the awkward silence, "What's your story?"

"Hmm?"

I sighed. "Your story, idiot! Why are you still alive?"

"Well you could have asked a little nicer, Simmons," Grif said, sneering.

Rolling my eyes, I almost gave up on the subject, but my curiosity was getting the better of me. "Okay, I'm sorry. Why are you still alive? What happened?"

Grif smirked. Instead of answering me right away, he took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Pulling one out of the nearly empty pack, he placed it between his lips and sparked the lighter. Taking a long drag, he exhaled the smoke, thankfully out of my direction.

"Simmons, I'm sure you understand the crippling burden of knowing the exact day you'll die." 

I nod at him slowly, he smiles. "Good. So you can imagine my distress at learning I would die aged twenty five, similar to how I imagine you were when you learned you'd be dead aged.."

"Twenty eight," I finished for him.

"Exactly. Twenty eight. But do you know why you're a dead man walking?" he asked. Shaking my head, Grif takes another drag before continuing. 

"In the year 2148, scientists made a breakthrough in genetics. They figured out that through extensive testing, they can calculate the exact date of death. Every generation since has been genetically modified to have their date branded on them since birth," he said. 

"For some, they're lucky to go out at an incredibly old age, for others, they die young," he said solemnly. "Sometimes, even younger than you and me."

I walked along, staring down at the ground. Feeling remorseful, I let the conversation drop. Eventually reaching my house, Grif stomped on his cigarette and followed me inside.

"What will I need at the colony?" I asked.

Grif thought for a minute. "Just pack a small bag of essentials. Clothes, toiletries, the bare necessities."

Grabbing my only duffel bag, I stuffed it with as much clothing as I could, barely leaving any room for my toiletries. I hear Grif shuffling around in my living room. Peeking my head out from my bedroom, I see him wandering around, looking at the different items that decorated my walls. He smiled softly, admiring each of my antique posters, stopping suddenly on a framed picture I had. I watched him gingerly remove it from the wall, gently cradling the frame in his large hands. 

I knew which picture that was; my mother, father, and me at my high school graduation. Without looking at it, I can visualize my mother's beaming smile, so proud of her only son. My father was, as usual, less enthused that day. Couldn't even be happy. Couldn't care less.

Grif frowned at the image, and I understood the feeling. He placed the frame back on the wall with the same care he had when removing it. Finishing my packing, I walked back into the front room. "I'm ready," I said.

Grif looked me up and down. "Don't need anything else?" I shook my head, proceeding to the front door. I reached for the handle, but froze before I could grab it. 

"You okay?" Grif asked. I nodded at him. "Yeah. I just have one more thing to do."

Having gone back into the bedroom, I shut the door behind me. Pulling out my phone, I dialed my mother's number and placed the device on my ear. I sat down on my bed and listened to the ring, waiting impatiently for the reaffirming click that comes from answering. 

Instead of an answer, I was met with the voicemail option. I felt tears well up in my eyes as the realization set in that the last time I hear my mother speak is via her own voicemail message. Hearing the tone, I drew a blank. "Hey Mom," I started, shakily. Catching my breath, I continued on. "Today is the day; I imagine you're pretty upset. I am too." 

The tears in my eyes began spilling over, overwhelming me with emotion. "I just thought I'd call you up and tell you how much I love you, and how much I appreciate everything you've given me. And.." I paused for a moment, attempting to gather my composure. "I just.. I didn't know that this would be the hardest part of dying. Saying goodbye."

Unable to finish, I hung up. Cradling my head in my hands, I sobbed freely, feeling the last fragments of the dam break off. 

Suddenly, I was enveloped in a warm embrace. Looking up, I locked eyes with Grif for a mere second before burying my face in his chest. He only continued to hold me tighter, and for once it finally felt like someone understood.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif and Simmons depart for the colony, and Grif begins to explain what it's all about.

I woke up wrapped up in my blankets, not quite sure if everything really happened or if I'd been dreaming. Scanning the room, I find Grif sitting on the edge of my bed, reading. Yeah, it definitely happened. "Morning, sunshine," he said.

Sitting up, I stretched and yawned quietly. Blinking a few times, I took in the scene before me; it felt comfortable. Domestic bliss, almost.

"How long was I asleep?"

Grif flipped another page of the book before answering me. "About 4 hours."

"Jesus."

"You were pretty exhausted, but I can't blame you. You've been through a lot."

Peering over his shoulder, I could see that Grif was almost through whatever book he was reading.

"What are you reading?"

Grif flipped to the cover. "The Nightmare Machine. It's the only Battlestar Galactica book I haven't read. I was surprised that you had it," he explained.

"It's nice to meet another fan," I said, smiling.

Grif grinned at me before turning back to the book. "I hate to cut this short, but we need to get going. We've already wasted enough time."

My stomach felt uneasy. "Right. Is there anything I need to know?"

"Well," he started, "The compound is pretty small, so you'll end up bunking up with another person. Hope you don't mind."

"I don't."

"Good. Right now there are only nine of us, plus you makes ten," he explained. "When we make supply runs, we've got two teams of four. Red Team runs and gets materials and food, while Blue Team gets mechanical supplies."

"Which team are you on?" I asked.

"Me? I'm on the Red Team," Grif said, grinning. "Chances are that if we stick together, you'll be on Red Team too."

I shot a smirk at Grif and got up from the bed. He stood up as well, we gathered my belongings, and left my house for good.

* * *

 

On the road to the colony, Grif gave me a basic run down of the inhabitants.

"As I mentioned before, I'm with the Reds," Grif said. "The Reds consist of myself, Sarge, Donut, and Lopez, while the Blues are Tucker, Caboose, Church, and Wash."

"Those are a handful of interesting names," I said.

Grif laughed. "I know, but wait until you meet everyone. It only gets weirder from there."

We walked along silently for a short while before I spoke again. "I have another question about this whole thing."

"Shoot," Grif said.

"I asked earlier if there was a greater purpose to this whole not-dying-and-living-in-a-colony thing. What is the purpose of all this?"

Grif went silent for a minute. I waited patiently for an answer.

"Well, Simmons," he began, "I won't bullshit you. I can't say that coming and living in a colony of people just like you doesn't come free."

I nodded slowly, my stomach twisting as I wondered what Grif was getting at.

Grif sighed. "This all started with a girl named Allison."


End file.
